


He would not encumber me

by Hoshigatta



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Dealing with life or death shit, M/M, Please read warnings before reading, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 04:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16548983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoshigatta/pseuds/Hoshigatta
Summary: Dean and Seth process the heel turn after Roman’s announcement.





	He would not encumber me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys - this is a fic about two people dealing with, among other things, the aftermath of just finding out their friend has cancer. If that is a triggering or especially sensitive subject for you, you may not want to read it. 
> 
> There’s nothing graphic, and I did not invent medical details about or engage in any speculation about Roman’s illness - the whole fic is just a big bunch of feelings.

It’s too much.

Seth wants to disappear. He’s sitting on the closed lid of a toilet in a bathroom stall, pressing his fingers against his eyes in a futile attempt to dam up the hot tears that keep running down his face. His chest heaves painfully as he lets out a sob.

Seth had tried to collect himself backstage as Roman hugged everyone and said soothing words to reassure them they should still have a good show, that _yes_ he will call if he needs anything, that he loves them all – taking care of them when _he’s_ the one with fucking cancer. It was too much.

Seth knows he should have stuck around, and tried to say a proper goodbye, but his feet had carried him here, and he’s too upset not to upset anyone else. His throat feels too tight to speak. His body is totally useless.

He has no idea how long it is before the tears stop and his breathing finally slows to normal. The pain in his chest is still there, but at least it’s not stabbing all the way through him. When he stands, his knees feel weak. Seth unlocks the stall, and walks shakily to the end of the corridor to the sinks to wash his face.

He knows instinctively that he’s not alone a second before he actually sees Dean; a stark black shape leaning back against the white tiled wall. The six feet between them is charged with something terrible, and Dean’s pale face is redder than it was before; blue gray eyes piercing and heavy they sweep slowly over Seth’s face. Dean is one of the most observant people Seth knows, and he seems to see everyone in their worst moments because he is always watching.

Seth turns to face the sink, switches on the tap, and cups his hand below the faucet. Cold water feels good on his face, and he sucks a little into his mouth. It tastes a little like chlorine. He’s getting his gear a little wet, but he doesn’t care.

There are beads of water running down his face and neck when he looks up, and he catches Dean’s eyes in the mirror.  
  
“I’m okay,” he says. There’s a little crack in his voice.  
  
Dean folds his arms over his chest.  
  
“You’re not,” Dean says, and there’s a waver in his tone like his throat is constricting, and then he kind of blinks too hard. When his eyes open they’re glossy and wet, and Seth is paralyzed because holy fuck, Dean is crying in front of him. Dean is crying and it’s in front of _him._  
  
Seth doesn’t know what to do, but then he thinks of Dean’s hand in his hair on the entrance ramp and the smell of Roman’s aftershave and Renee being stuck on commentary for another two and a half hours, and he’s crossing the space between them to lay his hands on both of Dean’s shoulders.  
  
“ _You’re_ not okay either,” he says, and Dean shuts his eyes again, drawing in breath that comes back out as a controlled sigh.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean says, and Seth feels one of those big, warm hands on his, squeezing his knuckles for just a moment before letting go. He’s never seen Dean this vulnerable, and a jealous, terrible part of him that he will never admit to out loud is grateful that _he_ gets to be the one to provide this comfort, even though he knows that’s mostly an accident. It’s fucking sick that anything feels good or comforting right now. Neither of them are supposed to be here, doing this for each other.  
  
None of this is supposed to be happening at all.  
  
Dean reaches up again and lays a careful hand on Seth’s chest. His index finger is just below the groove of Seth’s collarbone, and Seth expects Dean to push him back, to break free of Seth’s grasp, but there’s no resistance in his touch.  
  
“We’re still doing it tonight,” Dean says, and his eyes are wet and sharp.  
  
Oh god. They’d told them before the show that they were doing the heel turn tonight. Since Roman’s announcement, Seth hasn’t even thought about it.

  
Seth sucks in a breath.  
  
Dean pats him on the shoulder then steps beside him, breaking the contact between them.  
  
“You already talked to Vince?”  
  
Dean presses his lips together as he gives a quick shake of his head. “Hunter ‘reminded’ me before I came here. I didn’t ask, or anything,” he says, flatly, “We’re gonna win the tag belts and then they want me to do it to you.”  
  
Dean doesn’t look like he’s spoiling for a fight. There’s a stillness to the lines of his shoulders and spine, like he’s shutting off processes so he can operate on auxiliary power. He’s angry.  
  
Dean is _angry_ , and Seth would bet it’s got a lot to do with finding out his best friend has cancer from fucking Gorilla, _by design of the people they work for_ about five minutes before he had to go comfort Roman in front of the entire world. Dean is the most private person Seth’s ever met, and he knows that having that initial wave of grief and despair and disbelief ripped out of him for public display is not something that Dean’s going to forgive easily.  
  
(Seth knows that he, himself, will be angry about this. He will. He’s going to get there. Like any injury - the adrenaline has to wear off first before you can properly feel it.)  
  
For Seth, being in the Shield is like going to work at his dream job without having to do any of the parts of his day that he doesn’t like. The drives between towns are easier, management bosses them around less, they win titles, and he gets to show off in the ring for an audience of two as much as for the actual crowd. It’s so good and so easy, and every little thing they do together sells enough tee shirts that split three ways they could all still buy new houses by the end of the year if they wanted to.  
  
They can’t be the Shield with just two of them, and the kind of heat Seth and Dean generate together works better when it gets channeled into opposing forces.  
  
“We better give them a show, then.” Seth says. Dean turns to look at him, and Seth nods to give him encouragement.  
  
Dean’s gaze is steady.  
  
“It’s gotta hurt,” Dean says, and the edge in his voice is a promise.  
  
“That’s okay,” Seth says. He swallows. Getting punched in the face would be pretty good right about now. He would love to trade this pain for that one.

“You can hurt me. I can take it.” He steps forward, clapping his hand down to grip Dean’s shoulder again. They’re an arm’s length apart, and Dean’s eyes are blazing with furious resignation. Seth’s heart is racing. He feels terrible and sick and he doesn’t trust this company or medicine or biology or any of that shit that was solid for him yesterday but him and Dean together are as sure as gravity. They will throw themselves into this pain and unleash it, and they will know what to do, because together they always know what to do.

Later, when Dean’s crashing down on him with aching carefulness, it doesn't hurt enough, so he says the worst, most twisted thing that comes to mind.  
  
_“It’s okay.”_


End file.
